


The Unbeatable Foe

by arithmancer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Elder Wand, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6391330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arithmancer/pseuds/arithmancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Dumbledore receives an appeal from a Resistance leader in Continental Europe, an appeal he finds he can not resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

The summer breeze stirring the leaves of the trees and playing with the strands of Albus’s hair seemed to caress him, the sound of insects humming and the occasional hoot of an owl seemed a music to which he could dance all night, and the joy he felt at getting away from home and the nagging of Aberforth seemed to give him wings. He hastened through the woods, not wanting to make his friend wait any longer, hopping over fallen branches just for the glorious feeling of it, as he had done in his carefree childhood, before-

Albus gave a wild shake of his head. He had heard and thought enough about Ariana and her needs, today. Tomorrow would be soon enough to immerse himself in his family’s problems again. Tonight was for him.

Through the last trees, Albus saw a figure leaning casually against the large rock that stood at the far end of the clearing. Even in the cold light of the moon, his golden hair seemed to catch fire as he turned his head, apparently warned of Albus’s approach by a stray sound. Albus froze for a moment, drinking in the scene. The sudden alert tension, the untamed locks of hair bouncing as he turned, the merriment that flitted across his handsome face – he could be a woodland creature out of myth.

“Sorry I’m late,” Albus offered as he stepped out of the trees. 

“You are worth the wait,” Gellert replied. Even his accent was lovely; it spoke of faraway places Albus had only dreamed of seeing, and had a crispness that suited his personality. “I received your note, last night,” Gellert continued. “Sheer genius.”

Abruptly he bounded up onto the rock and struck a dramatic pose.

“For the Greater Good!” he declaimed in a sonorous voice, arm raised.

He’d liked the idea, then, Albus thought with a glow of pleasure.

“I’m glad you liked it. All day I was wondering if I had expressed it well, and waited impatiently to hear your thoughts,” Albus said, walking up to his friend.

Gellert crouched down and extended his hand to Albus, who grasped it with alacrity. His friend leapt lightly down onto the grass beside him.

“Thank you,” he said with a wink, as he looked up at Albus.

As always, when face-to-face with Gellert, Albus felt abruptly awkward. He loomed over his friend like an overgrown bag of bones. Gellert, in contrast, was perfectly proportioned. Height just above average, chest and shoulders that had already achieved the fullness of manhood, tapering to a narrow waist and hips…Albus flushed, hoping it was not so apparent in the moonlight…

…They had been sitting side by side, their backs against the mossy stone, heads together, talking animatedly of their plans. The lateness of the hour was beginning to take its toll, and a companionable silence settled on them. Gellert slid his head down onto Albus’ chest and gave a contented sigh, looking up at the stars. After a moment, Albus slid his arm around Gellert’s waist, his stomach fluttering nervously. When Gellert responded by wriggling closer, he exhaled slowly, to hide his nerves. Tentatively, he ran the fingers of his other hand through Gellert’s hair. Gellert twisted to face Albus, his expression oddly serious, and their eyes met. For a moment, Albus teetered between longing and fear, before his fingers twisted themselves tightly into Gellert’s curls to pull him closer, and he felt his friend’s arms wrap themselves tightly about his neck as their lips found each other….

…The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting a golden light on the timeworn surface of the table. Ariana was clearing away the breakfast dishes, giggling at something Aberforth had just said, as Albus and Gellert walked in through the door.

Desperately Albus fought to make himself stop, make himself leave, to wake up, as Aberforth rounded on him and started to berate him for his neglect of Ariana. Gellert leapt heatedly to his defense, then Aberforth was writhing in pain on the floor, Albus drew his wand and stopped Gellert, and the duel started. As Albus watched with the helplessness of one trapped in a nightmare, he saw himself raise his wand to cast the fateful curse, when a loud knock on the door, and a cry of “Frühstück!” jarred him from sleep. 

Still trapped in the vividness of his nightmare, Albus at first looked around wildly, not recognizing his surroundings. His tear-filled eyes noted the rumpled bedding on the floor below, where he must have thrown it off in a final, desperate attempt to escape the dream. The ceiling above him showed cracks in the white plaster between the heavy wooden beams, dark with age. An inn, he was at an inn, of course, and the chambermaid had been sent to awaken him for breakfast as he had requested. He must be grateful to her, that she had come in time to spare him the final, unbearable portion of the scene.

Just before leaving Hogwarts, he had forced himself to watch what he had done, once. Albus would have preferred to live the rest of his life without knowing, yet knew better than to come to this place, for this purpose, unprepared. His enemy was nearly his match in skill and inborn magical talent, and enjoyed the advantage of a wand of legendary power. Albus also knew now, to his never-ending shame and regret, that his enemy would not scruple to strike at weakness, and his own ignorance of the truth would have made him vulnerable. Well, now he knew the truth, however bitter, but having seen it once was more than enough for a lifetime.

Albus reached under the pillow for his wand and with it filled the large porcelain bowl on the washstand with water. Rising, he performed his ablutions, combed his graying auburn hair, and pulled it back into a queue. Next, he put on his half-moon glasses and gave himself a critical look. As his wand touched his face, his nose shrank and straightened, the shape of his cheekbones altered itself subtly, and the wrinkles on his face deepened. A second spell, and his auburn hair and beard, just a moment before only starting to show strands of white, were now a uniform steely grey. 

Thus disguised, he dressed himself meticulously. For the last time looked over the letter from the woman he was going downstairs to meet. She had been, until recently, an entirely unknown quantity to him: the wife of a Resistance leader with whom Albus had occasionally communicated. Her husband’s recent arrest in connection to a failed attempt on the life of Grindelwald had pushed her into a leadership role. Among her first actions had been a request for his assistance, in terms he had found he could not refuse.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_As a long-time admirer of your work in Alchemy and Transfiguration, I have been heartened to read in our underground press of your speeches in the Wizengamot, in which you bring to the attention of British witches and wizards the depredations Gellert Grindelwald has inflicted on the Continent. For this, I and like-minded witches and wizards living under the tyrant’s heel are sincerely grateful._

_The truth is, though, that our situation is desperate, and the evil greater than even you imagine. It is this that drives me to beseech your aid. As a mother, I feel deeply that the children of a society are its greatest treasure, and how a society treats them, the true measure of its heart. I write in the hope that you, the greatest wizard of our generation, share this view, since you have chosen the noble calling of teacher when every career was open to you._

_My messenger brings proofs of a new atrocity perpetrated by Grindelwald’s regime. His use of torture and murder to suppress dissent and impose his political will are old news to you, I realize. Now, young children, the magically talented children of Muggles, are being sought out and imprisoned at Nurmengard._

_The only way to end this is to end the regime. I pray that you will consent to help us._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Maria Herrmann_

Well, he would meet the writer of the letter shortly, so with a flick of his wand, Albus Vanished it. The he carefully stuck the pin enclosed with the letter into his cravat, and headed downstairs to the dining room.

He was only halfway through his cup of coffee, still waiting for the steaming porridge in his bowl to cool, when a buxom, dark-haired witch of average height seated herself across from him.

After a perfunctory greeting in German, which Albus returned politely, she eyed his cup with distaste and commented, wrinkling her nose, “I cannot imagine how people stand the coffee served at this establishment. It always had the consistency of mud, and with all the Muggle rationing, it now also has the flavor!”

Recognizing the phrase the messenger had given him, Albus replied with the proper response.

“Madam, we English prefer to drink tea with breakfast. But, when in Rome…” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Ah, a foreign visitor!” she exclaimed, and proceeded to make small talk about the rigors of travel, as she ordered and consumed a sweet roll and hot chocolate. A very ordinary-seeming woman, to be the author of the impassioned plea for help he had just reread; though not without a certain dark humor, he reflected. 

As she rose to leave, Dumbledore rose too and inclined his head courteously, making sure to knock over his recently refilled coffee cup in his haste. Cursing under his breath for verisimilitude, he drew his wand forth from his robes and cast a quick _“Tergeo!”_ to wipe up the spill. He added a surreptitious flourish to his broad wand motion as he also cast a nonverbal charm that would allow him to follow her to her next destination even when she was lost to his sight.

After waiting a few minutes, Dumbledore got up to leave. He cast his traveling cloak about his shoulders to ward of the cold, damp air, and stepped outside into the Muggle town. He kept his hand on his wand inside his pocket, allowing it to guide him subtly in the footsteps of his quarry.

The streets were empty, except for the occasional patrol by young men, boys, really, in uniforms with red armbands adorned by the spidery black symbol favored by their mustached Muggle leader. His, to Dumbledore’s eyes quaintly unmoving likeness plastered the wall of the buildings at regular intervals. The windows of houses were all dark, covered by heavy drapes to prevent the escape of betraying rays of light during nighttime air raids, a feature this town had in common with Muggle towns at home, Dumbledore reflected somberly. Only women, and a few men as old as Albus appeared to be, patronized the few shops that were open. This was one reason Albus’s chosen disguise was that of an older man. He could Confund any young Muggle soldier who demanded his papers, of course, but the disguise would likely spare him the trouble.

His wand guided him to a walled house with a wrought-iron gate, on which there hung a sign, lettered in German, warning of an unexploded bomb. Looking about, Albus saw that several of the neighboring buildings had been reduced to rubble by the vagaries of the Muggle war, and the street appeared deserted. Disregarding the warning, for his quarry had entered, Dumbledore cast a spell that turned the gate into vapor for a moment as he stepped through, and then caused it to return to its original form, with himself on the other side. He hastened up the walk and into the house.

“You are Professor Dumbledore?” asked the woman with whom he had breakfasted, in heavily accented English.

“Indeed, Madam. And you, I presume, are Frau Herrmann?” he asked in German, as she nodded her head in affirmation.

“I wish to express my heartfelt thanks that you have come,” she said, switching to her native tongue. “This is our fight, not yours, but the situation is desperate. The cancer of hatred in our society has flowered under his charismatic leadership, and as a result, we who resist him are too few to fight him openly. Secretly –” her voice broke.

So the rather prosaic breakfast companion and the writer of the letter were one. Her grief, anyway, was genuine, he judged.

“Madam, allow me to offer my deepest sympathy,” Albus spoke into the heavy silence left as she covered her mouth with a handkerchief and fought to compose herself once more. No one knew whether her husband still lived; there has been no news after his disappearance into Nurmengard. “And my apologies, for the trouble that you were forced to take to bring me here. The information your messenger gave me – after I heard it, I could not but come.”

“Nonetheless, our plans have little chance of success without you,” she said firmly. “Please, have a seat,” she said, indicating an armchair in the parlor. She seated herself on the matching couch.

“What is it that you need of me?” Albus asked as he sat down.

“We need you to help us with Grindelwald himself,” she said simply. “Our best have tried and failed; he is a foe beyond our measure. His followers fight for him with fanatical conviction. If he fails, we believe they may lose heart, and we can strike in the confusion caused by his death and seize Nurmengard. That would be a great victory for us. In the past week we have secretly brought in fighters for this purpose.”

“I agree in principle with this plan,” Albus replied, “with one reservation. If I succeed in defeating him short of death, he is to be my captive. I do not want him killed.”

Maria Herrmann’s dark eyes flashed. “But you know what he has done!” she exclaimed indignantly.

“I do,” he replied somberly. “I do not wish his blood on my hands unless there is no other way.”

“As you wish,” she said, after a few moments of silent consideration. “But he must never have the opportunity to harm another person again,” she added fiercely.

“I trust that you will find a way to honor our agreement, and address your own concerns as well,” Albus answered her.

“Tomorrow would be a good time to make our move,” Maria said. “At noon there is a rally, and our people can be in the audience, poised to strike when he fails to show up.”

“This rally seems like an opportune moment for me as well,” Albus suggested. “A public defeat would surely have a greater impact on his followers than a mere failure to appear.”

“A bold move. Indeed, in such an arena he could not refuse a duel!” she agreed. “Very well. I have here detailed drawings of the building.”

She tapped the delicate coffee table before the couch with her wand, and a meticulous diagram of a large auditorium appeared upon it. Albus bent forward attentively, allowing her to speak without interruption as she outlined her plan. There would be time to improve upon it once he had grasped all of the details.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gellert Grindelwald questions a suspected Resistance courier who has been captured and is being held at Nurmengard prison.

Gellert Grindelwald, the most feared Dark Wizard of his day, looked very much at home as he leaned back in his throne-like chair behind the massive desk in his office. Despite his golden curls and a beauty that six decades had not erased, there was a certain wildness to his expression that made him look the part. His blue eyes narrowed in concentration over his steepled fingers as he listened to the report of Ivar Patrylo, Head of Intelligence for his regime. Patrylo was a short, thin, entirely unremarkable wizard with an unruly shock of sandy-brown hair. His slouch and his rumpled black robes were almost aggressively unmilitary; only the sign of the Hallows pinned crookedly to his chest marked him as a member of Grindelwald’s inner circle. But it was not for his martial appearance that Gellert had elevated Patrylo.

“You are sure a messenger reached Dumbledore?” Gellert interrupted his report.

“I am certain,” Ivar replied, his face dispassionate. “Dumbledore had a drink with a guest at the Three Broomsticks, a public house and inn located in the wizarding settlement adjacent to Hogwarts School. She registered under a French name, but our informant recognized her accent as from Eastern Europe. She and Dumbledore retired to her rooms, and our informant was able to overhear a snippet of their private conversation when he brought them dinner. Maria Herrmann was mentioned.”

“But Dumbledore remains at Hogwarts?” Gellert asked.

“That, I regret I cannot say,” Patrylo replied with a shrug. “The Easter school holiday has begun, which makes his presence or absence difficult to establish. If he is present, he is keeping to himself.”

“A clever time to make a move in secret,” Gellert opined.

“Indeed,” his spymaster agreed.

Albus, as a junior member of the British Wizengamot, had been a thorn in his side since before his rise to power, Gellert mused. His tedious speeches on the rights of Muggles and the Muggleborn, and their ‘mistreatment’ on the Continent appeared occasionally in the press, and had some impact on public opinion. Enough that the odd member of the British Ministry sometimes threw a roadblock in the way of efforts at mutual cooperation and the like.

However, it was not Dumbledore’s political influence that Gellert feared, though the man could coin a good phrase in a pinch. An ironic smile curled his lip as his eyes caught the imprint of the document on top of the in pile on his desk, embossed with gold letters that spelled out “For the Greater Good”. 

No, Dumbledore’s greatest danger to him was as a wizard. In his youth at Durmstrang, Gellert had met no equals: not among his fellow students, and not among the faculty. Then, unexpectedly, while visiting his boring old kinswoman in the backwater of a hamlet in which she dwelt, he had met Albus. Passionate, intellectually brilliant, and his match as a wizard. Perhaps, more than his match… Gellert sighed regretfully as he considered what they could have accomplished together. But the balance was altered, Gellert reminded himself. After his rift with Albus, he had continued the pursuit of their joint dream, and was master of the greatest of the Deathly Hallows, the legendary Elder Wand. Still, it would be good to know more of Albus’s intentions, to be prepared.

“I thought you had the Hermann woman’s messenger in custody!” Gellert said, allowing his irritation to show.

“My people apprehended one Viktor Krum as he made his way across France, yes,” Ivar replied. “It seems to me that the Resistance would have been better served to choose _Maria_ Herrmann as their leader to begin with. Her late, unlamented husband was a brave man, but lacked subtlety. It seems his widow has the sense not to put all of her eggs in one basket.”

“Meaning?”

“Krum was either a decoy, or what I consider more likely, one of a few people sent.”

“You do not know which?” Gellert exclaimed.

“I have handed him over to Commandant Adler,” Ivar replied with a shrug. “I presume he has been put to the question, but I have not heard what, if anything, has been discovered.”

“I see. In light of your report, the matter takes on greater urgency. Thank you for the information. Please let Slava know on your way out that I wish her to send for Adler.”

Patrylo performed the vague wave of his hand that passed for a salute with him, and took his leave.

A smile played on Gelllert’s lips as he considered the contrast between his two most important supporters. He had no illusions about Patrylo’s loyalty to him. The man had no exceptional skill for magic, but a brilliant and logical mind that was a rarity among wizards. He served Gellert because he preferred a master who recognized and rewarded this underappreciated talent, and would continue to serve so long as it remained to his advantage.

Ernst, on the other hand…his smile broadened. He was the heart to Ivar’s head. Ernst was fanatically dedicated to him, and enthusiastic in the punishment of his opponents. His longing for Gellert’s approval made him boastful to a degree that could be tedious, though also endearing in its way. In the normal course of events, Ernst really ought to have said something of what he had learned from this Krum over the private dinner they had shared last night…oh well, he would soon know. 

Gellert placed his gold-rimmed reading glasses in his nose and distracted himself with skimming the document that had been left for him to sign, before dipping his quill into the inkpot on his desk to sign it with a flourish. As he put it into the out pile and reached for the next, his secretary entered the room. 

“Ernst Adler to see you, sir,” she stated briskly.

“Thank you, Slava. Send him in, please,” he instructed her, folding his glasses and placing them aside on his desk.

Ernst strode in, halting before the desk to click his heels together and give a precise military salute.

“You asked to see me, sir,” he said in a clipped voice.

A tall, slender man in his late twenties, he was young indeed for his position as commandant of Nurmengard, a position that carried also the responsibility for Grindelwald’s personal security. This latter reason was why Adler had won the post. The recent attempt on his life, with the connivance of a senior member of his staff, had convinced Gellert that personal loyalty might be more important than experience, for this task. 

“So, Ernst, what can you tell me of this Krum’s mission?” Gellert asked him.

“I have nothing to report, sir,” Ernst replied, his pale face flushing.

“Patrylo tells me that he was likely sent to Dumbledore, in Britain,” Gellert told him. “Another of Herrmann’s made it through. I want to know what she is trying to communicate to him.”

“I regret I have failed you in this,” Ernst said uncomfortably. “I have taken a personal interest in the case.”

“This matter is a top priority, Ernst. Surely you have a competent Legilimens you could put on the task.”

“I tried that, sir,” Ernst replied with alacrity.

“I see. It seems, then, that I shall have to deal with him personally,” Gellert said. “Take me to his cell.”

As they left the office, Ernst gave a silent signal to a pair of the young wizards standing nearby, and they fell into step behind him. Their path took the four of them through the portal that linked the palace to the prison’s entryway, and then down the narrow stone steps that led to the high security dungeons below.

Adler stopped before the door of a cell and tapped its lock with his wand. The door opened, releasing a wave of foul-smelling air into the hallway. Beyond it was dark, dank, windowless stone box of a cell. With a wave of his wand, Adler cast a spell to light the room, and preceded Gellert inside. The two young guards took their places just outside the open door, and Gellert followed Ernst into the room.

The prisoner, who had been huddled in the far corner of the cell, raised his arm to shield his eyes from the sudden illumination. At the sight of Grindelwald, his face twisted into a grimace of hate.

“You!” he said, and spat on the floor as he recognized his new visitor. He scrambled up to his feet and glared defiantly at Gellert, his black eyes blazing. “If you think I will tell you anymore than I told your lapdog there-”

“Think?” Gellert repeated lightly, a mocking smile on his lips. “I don’t _think_ you will tell me everything. I _know_ it.”

Drawing the Elder Wand, he flourished it at the prisoner. _“Legilimens!”_ he said.

The prisoner stared defiantly back at him, and his mind remained dark to Gellert. So, Ernst’s Legilimens might be a competent wizard after all, Gellert reflected. The prisoner was skilled in the art of hiding his thoughts from others. Focusing his mind, Gellert repeated the incantation, and a hazy image, and then a couple more, floated up to the surface, as they inevitably would, for no wizard could hope to block the magic of the Elder Wand. Abruptly, Gellert found himself looking back at the prisoner, who had broken eye contact he felt the spell take hold by averting his eyes.

“Ernst!” Gellert barked.

Adler walked up to the prisoner and jerked his chin up so that he faced Gellert, then cast a spell to freeze him in place, his eyes held magically open.

Refocusing, Gellert again cast the spell. _“Legilimens!”_

The trickle of images became a flood, some containing nuggets of information it might be worth passing on to Patrylo. Abruptly Gellert knew he was seeing the memory he sought, for he could sense the desperate fury and fear of the prisoner as the memory surfaced. Repeating the incantation, he focused on the memory.

Krum sat with three others in a darkened room. A woman, middle aged and buxom, was speaking. To each, she handed a sealed letter, and … photographs. Gellert focused his will, and saw Krum take his and look at the top one. With a shock of recognition, he saw that it depicted another part of the prison complex. The one in which children of Muggles showing magical ability were studied, in hopes that the research might shed light on the possibility of enhancing the magic of wizarding children born Squibs, and help in the treatment of various magical disorders. 

So this was the card the widow Herrmann had played, in her efforts to attach Albus to her cause. She could not have chosen better, did she know the whole of Albus’s life story. A memory came to him, of Albus kneeling next to the dead girl, looking up at him, tears dripping from his blue eyes, their customary twinkle extinguished. His sister needn’t have lived as a freak, a magical cripple; she needn’t have died, if someone had thought to do such research before, Gellert told himself angrily.

Gellert flicked his wand at the prisoner, who collapsed back down into the corner, his hands covering his face.

“You have what you need, sir?” Ernst asked.

Gellert nodded.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_ he barked, and a jet of green light from his wand hit the prisoner, silencing his sobs. Gellert turned on his heel and left the cell, with Ernst in his wake. The prisoner’s information had given him much to consider….


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus Dumbledore and the Resistance put their plan into motion.

Albus stepped onto the stage, his wand at the ready. As Gellert turned towards him, he allowed his magical disguise to fall away, revealing his true appearance. Gellert, Albus saw, retained the handsome features and golden hair of his youth. The black robes, marked with the symbol of the Hallows over his breast, did a good job of disguising the thickening of his waist, the greatest effect time had had.

“Albus Dumbledore!” Gellert exclaimed grandly, playing to his audience. With a curt gesture, he stopped the guards who had been about to leap onto the stage. “All the way from Britain to lecture us as he does his fellows in their Wizengamot, I presume. Have they finally wearied of listening to you? Thank you, but we do not require the assistance of foreign wizards in running our affairs!”

The audience cheered appreciatively.

“The time for talk is past, Gellert,” Albus replied. “You are a murderer, and you hide behind your followers from those you have wronged. You are not worthy to rule.”

“We expect greater courtesy from guests, Albus, than is apparently the standard among the British.”

“If you find my frankness offensive, you may try to shut me up,” Albus replied. “Or do you need to have your guards do it for you?”

“You propose a wizard’s duel, I see,” Gellert said, with a smile. “Very well, I accept.”

He drew his wand forth from his robes and turned to face Albus. Their eyes met for a moment, and both bowed at the waist. Gellert was unreadable; a condition Albus had anticipated. He was about to learn what he faced, in the Elder Wand.

With all the speed Albus had so admired in his youth, Gellert struck, and the green bolt of a Blasting Curse flew out of the end of his wand. Albus, his mind perfectly focused, released the Shield Charm he had prepared, and watched as the bolt passed through it as though it was made of paper. With a swirl of his cloak, he vanished just as the bolt reached him, and reappeared a few feet to the right of the position at which he had been standing. 

It was clear enough. The spells cast by that wand were too powerful for him to block directly, with magic. Avoidance and more subtle counters would have to be the order of the day…

A wall of fire roared to life from the spot in which he had just been standing, and spread toward him. Instantly he transfigured it into a wall of rock, and dove behind it to avoid the next spell, which sent stone chips flying at him. Albus returned fire with a series of curses, which glanced harmlessly off the Shield Charm cast by Gellert in response.

Changing tactics, Albus conjured a rain of daggers behind Gellert, who spun about and transfigured them into oversized hornets that buzzed angrily as they swarmed towards Albus, only to disappear into a cloud of black smoke. Gellert did not even wait for the smoke to clear before he sent a conjured serpent at Albus. A rapid exchange of conjuration, Transfiguration, and Vanishing ensued, drawing cries of surprise and admiration from the crowd as an unlikely variety of implements, creatures, and plants made their way back and forth across the stage.

Albus could feel himself tiring. A flying shard of rock had opened a bleeding gash on his forehead. The strain of having to dodge physically what he could not block magically against that incredible wand of Gellert’s was beginning to tell on him, and he felt grateful for all those stairs he was forced to climb daily at Hogwarts. Surely, Gellert, too, must be feeling his years…and indeed, Gellert halted for a moment to take a breath, and Albus observed a sheen of sweat on his face.

“I did not kill your sister, you know,” Gellert’s voice, carried across the stage by a spell, spoke softly into his ear. “You did.”

As he spoke, Gellert flourished his wand and Albus heard an odd clicking sound behind him. He forced himself to hold still, for a moment, staring at Gellert as though frozen in shock. This was the moment in the duel he had foreseen after he had forced himself to relive his memory of the day Ariana had died. His plan to win the duel depended on it. 

Albus gasped as though in horrified surprise at the news. Then, as he heard the clicking sound again, he spun around, to find himself facing a giant scorpion. One of its claws was shut, the other sweeping towards him. He ducked and it clicked shut just above his head as he stepped back.

He steeled himself as the enormous tail struck at him, and raised his left arm in a futile gesture of protection. The stinger sank deeply into the flesh of his forearm, and he cried out in pain despite having expected it. The puncture itself was as nothing compared to the burning that intensified as the beast injected its venom. His arm felt as though it was on fire. Focusing his concentration on the beast, he turned it into a jet of water and sent it at Gellert, who froze it with a casual flick of his wand.

Albus allowed his wand to slip out of the fingers of his right hand as the column of ice crashed to the floor beside him, and staggered forward, his face drawn in pain. Gellert watched as Albus neared him, an expression that might have been genuine regret on his face. 

“You have given me a better fight than any wizard I have faced in decades, Albus,” he said, as they stood face to face again after many long years. “What a team we could have made.”

Knowing him to be wandless, Gellert had allowed him to come within reach, as Albus had hoped he would. As though kneeling to beseech his help, Albus threw himself forward and locked both hands on the Elder Wand, tearing it from Gellert’s grasp. He fell heavily to the floor and rolled quickly onto his back, to train the wand on Gellert. 

Glancing over to the edge of the stage to see whether the guards planned to react to his unorthodox dueling tactic, Albus discovered that the Resistance fighters had engaged the guards at some point during the duel. He was in no immediate danger from that quarter. 

Gellert threw back his head and laughed.

“You are Master of the Elder Wand despite your weakness, Albus, and it pleases me that you have achieved the dream of your youth. I salute your ingenuity. Yet not even the Elder Wand can save you now. No spell exists that can counter the venom of that beast. You have mere seconds left-”

A burst of music, a haunting, unearthly, yet deeply beautiful song, interrupted his speech. It never failed to bring a touch of joy to Albus’s heart, joy and wonder, that he, of all people, had been blessed with such a friend. Gellert turned his head, to see the flash of gold and flaming crimson as the phoenix glided past him to alight on the floor beside Dumbledore. Fawkes looked up at Albus, and a crystal tear ran out of one beady black eye and dripped off the tip of his beak onto the wound the scorpion had left. The burning sensation and dizziness that had threatened to overwhelm Albus’s senses began to recede. As additional tears dripped down onto it, the wound closed, leaving no mark.

Gellert gazed down at Dumbledore in growing horror, as comprehension dawned. His wild glance fell upon Dumbledore’s discarded wand. As he started towards it, Fawkes swooped ahead of him and picked it up in his beak. He flew out of Gellert’s reach, landing with a burst of flame atop the monumental stone representation of the Hallows behind the stage. Gingerly, Albus rose to his feet. 

“The game is over, Gellert, and it is you who has lost,” Albus said somberly. He looked about at the battle raging below. “Though you are not entirely powerless, even now. Many may die before the battle is won, and only you can save them. Call off your people, and you may surrender with dignity-”

“Never!” Gellert said defiantly. 

With a shrug, Albus cast a spell, freezing Gellert’s feet in place. Turning his attention to the melee below, Albus looked around, assessing where his help might make the biggest difference. He noted a knot of black-clad wizards who were fighting effectively as a unit. As their leader barked an order, they all focused their fire and a rain of curses belched forth at their target.

_“Protego!”_ Albus cried, and to his delight, his charm deflected all of the curses. The tall, heavily built wizard who had been standing closest to their target fell, hit by the rebound of a pair of the curses he and his fellows had cast. Albus shook his head in amazement at the power of his counterspell. Truly, this wand he had won was a marvel.

Emboldened by this success, Albus targeted the leader, causing the air around him to harden into invisible bonds and muffling his speech. The remaining three fighters in the group, though, did not lose their heads. Recognizing him as the source of the magic that hindered them, they turned towards him and fired curses at him.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_ Albus heard one of them shout in a high voice.

He knew better than to try a Shield Charm against _that_ curse, and desperately waved the Elder Wand at the front row of seats, willing it to move. With an explosive crack, the bolts that had fastened them to the floor broke loose and the row of chairs rose into the air between him and his attacker, catching fire and breaking in two as the green jet of light hit. As he sent the flaming pieces hurtling towards his attackers, Albus rapidly disarmed the witch who had tried to kill him. Her companions desperately sought to Vanish the debris before it landed on them, and a resistance fighter took one down. The last one, white-faced with fear, barely avoided being hit as he Vanished the piece that threatened his defenseless fellows.

Something fell heavily to the floor behind Albus. 

“Ernst!” cried Gellert, a note of incredulity in his voice.

Turning, Albus saw a young officer he had Stunned backstage on his way to confront Gellert, lying dead on the floor. Maria Herrmann was making her way up the stairs, her wand out. Albus turned back to keep an eye on Gellert and any possible rescuers from below.

“He had his wand trained on your back,” she explained. “I shouted a warning, but you were distracted by the fighting.”

She glared at Gellert, who looked stricken. Thin cords burst from the tip of her wand and wrapped themselves around Gellert’s arms and ankles. Bringing her wand to her throat, she began to speak, and her voice carried over the din of the fighting.

“We have captured your leader, and taken the advantage in the battle. I do not want more of my people to fall, so I urge you. Surrender, and your lives will be spared!”

As she spoke, Albus released the spell, now superfluous, that he had cast on Gellert. His eyes rested still on the form of the fallen officer as surviving members of his inner circle began to throw down their wands.

“Have you decided, then, what is to be his fate?” Albus asked Maria.

“There will shortly be no shortage of empty cells in Nurmengard,” she replied, her voice now back to its usual volume. “Since you wish it, Dumbledore, I will gladly spare one for him.”

With a look of loathing, she turned towards Gellert. “I can only hope that you will rot in it for many decades, before death comes for you; nothing short of death will ever bring you forth from it.”

With those words she walked away to join a group of her fighters, who were waving her over.

“Albus, this is your doing?” Gellert asked. “I…I would rather end it. Tell her you have changed your mind…please…for what we once were to one another.”

Albus shook his head gravely. “It is why I will not see you dead. Long ago, you showed me, in a way I could not ignore, what I was making of myself. This gift to you, time enough to understand what you have made of yourself, is all I can give to repay you. For the sake of the love I once bore you, I shall hope that the time suffices.”

Gellert looked at him, uncomprehending.

Albus turned on his heel and walked off the stage, extending his wrist for Fawkes, who glided down to join him. His work here was done; Hogwarts awaited him.

The End


End file.
